Prodo
by Negare
Summary: Usual summary crap: bad stuff happens, someone gets all upset and weepy, does stuff you wouldn't expect them too, more bad stuff happens, everyone's like why did that bad stuff happen?
1. Chapter 1

Author's NB: Huzzah! Just a quick note for whoever feels the need to read this scribble, I've been playing around with literature techniques, and I've decided I like doing this, writing in such a way that I don't end every statement with "said bob" or "replied Joe" or "Steve grumbled". See, the way I view it, this is transformers, most people should know the characters well enough by now to figure out who's speaking based on their personality and usual colloquialisms, and I tend to order it anyway, if I figure the majority of people won't guess who is railing I'll put in their name. It just kind of annoys me when people have every second sentence with the word "said" or some such similar semantic. Also, I don't feel the need to put "so bob and Steve and Joe were at the pub… now they're at the next pub… and now they're at another pub… they're on a pub crawl". Gets tedious, pads out the story waaaaaaaaaaaay too much.

That's my cringe element for the day.

Another issue at hand, if you're confused during certain parts, good, there are parts.

And 10 points to whoever can figure out where my accent makes life difficult for foreigners.

--

**P****rodo**

**"I betray"**

**--**

Chapter One

A farce.

That's what this is.

How the hell could they be sure?

Those charred remains could belong to anyone.

"Unidentifiable".

That was what they said.

So, chances were, it probably did belong to someone else… or used to be belong.

That mound of burnt, stinking, meat.

For all he knew, it could have been some stray caught in the cross fire.

How dignified.

A filthy, unwanted mongrel, probably just out to spill its seed in whatever bitch it could find, and here it was now, laying in a neat and new wooden box, lined with padded cushion, silk skillfully sewed over it, and buried under a tombstone with the name of his beloved inscribed in some overtly poignant font.

Or maybe just some hobo, down on his luck, deciding to have a sleep in a place where giant robots would have an all out brawl. Or maybe, well, most likely, passed out drunk after an attempt to strain meths through bread.

At least they "found" Carly. His son, God only knew what fate his corpse met.

So in the box with the mangled hunk of overly singed flesh was his son's school blazer, his hair brush and his favourite child hood toy.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two 

"Its their fault, you know".

"Don't be ridiculous, its war, its what happens, people, Transformers, they die".

"Yeah, well, its not our damn war".

"Maybe not originally, but its here now, and we can either fight the 'Cons or we can lie down and let them take our planet".

"Easy for you to say, your wife's grave isn't occupied with some one's burnt pot roast".

"For God's sake, Spike, they said it was her!"

"They said it couldn't be identified, and if Perceptor can't ID the remains then no one can".

"Well, who the hell else are the going to belong to? She was the only one in that part of the building".

"It could have been from someone who ran in looking for cover, or someone who got lost, or maybe someone who was blown up and one heap went one way and the rest went the other".

"Everyone else has been accounted for, their remains found, and no one else was found in that area, Spike, it _is_ Carly in that grave".

"Okay, okay, so maybe it _is_ Carly, but if everyone is accounted for then where the hell is my son?"

There was a pause, no silence, of course, given their rowdy location.

"Spike, I think you've had enough".

"I'll decide when I have enough!"

"Had enough, Spike, had".

"Always the proper one, huh Chip? Always gotta be right, all the time, can't stand the fact that its not my wife in that hole!"

"Spike, please…"

"Please? Please what? Calm down? Stop making a scene? Huh? Is that what you want to say you damn coward?"

"Spike…"

"My family is dead".

Eyes narrowed, sweating hands on the sticky table between them, standing now.

"And they don't even have the decency to admit I'll never have them back, instead, they just perpetrate the notion that some dirty mongrel lies in the place of my beautiful Carly. So, Chip, you and your genetic identifying can go straight to Hell".

He skulled the last of the whisky, in a slightly oversized glass, and then stormed out of the smoky pub.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Bastard!

Never thought he'd be against me.

He's supposed to be my friend.

Supposed to be there for me.

To believe me.

Help me.

But no.

Always gotta be the one with the science backing him up. Can't ever accept that sometimes a person just _knows. _

A bunch of charred cells on a slide.

_That's_ my Carly?

They can't prove it is. They're full of it.

They are. Aren't they?

Yes. They are.

You know, it is _their _fault.

I'm aware of that.

Are you?

I was there. I saw it.

I'm not talking about your locale at the time.

What the hell are you talking about then?

That Carly isn't where she should be. She should be in that coffin. It is some stray mutt.

She's probably rotting away under some hunk of concrete.

Or maybe one of those tin cans is scrapping her off the back of their foot as _we _speak.

Maybe they took her for research, autopsy and all that.

Maybe she's alive, maybe the Con's took her.

Why would they take her, idiot?

That's crap. The Decepticons don't have her, if they did, they would have ransomed her by now.

Oh, so you know the Decepticon hostage strategies, do you?

She's not a hostage, she's a kidnappee.

What? That's shit. Go find a dictionary you retard.

Oh for the love of…

So?

So what?

So, what's going to happen now?

Don't know.

How can you not know?

Other things on my mind, in case you hadn't noticed.

Noticed? Yes. Time to plan, now.

Plan what?

Why, revenge of course?

Revenge?

Yes.

Why?

She's dead. She's dead because of them. She's dead and they hand you over a pile of dead dog roast, that's why.

I know no one wants to hear it, but what if on the off chance, Chip is right?

Shut up.

Liar.

Yeah, he's a liar. Him. And all of them. All of the others.

Well, at least he's not peddling the notion that a hostage is someone who's been kidnapped.

Shut the hell up.

Shut up.

What about revenge?

For Carly.

Yes, revenge for Carly.

What about Danny?

Son.

He's dead too.

They don't even know where he is… if you says he's a hostage I'll pummel you.

Maybe they took off. Maybe Danny is someone else's son and Carly was worried you were getting to close t the truth, so they did a runner.

Okay. That's the stupidest thing I've heard all day.

Back to revenge?

What about it?

You have to get revenge.

On who?

Told you.

On them?

Yes. Them.

The Decepticons?

No… well, not yet.

They were the ones who attacked, if it weren't for them…

Yes, perhaps they are the reason the wife, the son, they're dead…

They are dead. But I want them back. I want them back.

They're not just going to walk through that door. Accept it, they're dead.

I know that. I don't mean I want them back to life. I want to have them back. I want to give them dignity. I want to hold them. I want to stroke their faces and brush aside their hair. I want to pick out their clothes. I want to search through photo albums looking for the image I want to immortalize them on their programmes. I want to see them lying in a coffin. To lay flowers in Carly's hands. A toy, something, anything, in Danny's. I want a funeral mass, with friends, family and acquaintances mourning the same as I. I want an after function with those cheap little bulk bought slices and cakes, with those little pies that you never know what's in them. I want to be able to stand over a hole in the ground that I can call their grave. I want to look at the head stone that I picked out for them, to run my fingers over the grooves their names have etched. I want to visit them every day, no matter the weather. I want to lay flowers and photos and letters and light candles and a vase full of those coloured glass pebbles. I want to go into a graveyard, a city for the dead, a place where those loved may rest and those loving can weep. I want that. I want that privacy that is not privacy. I want to mourn bitterly. I want that. I want that all.

You wanted to grow old with Carly, but that's not going to happen, now is it?

You wanted to watch your son grow old.

You wanted to have more children with the woman you loved.

_Love._

Whatever. But all those things you planned all those things you wanted are not going to be given to you.

Yes. Tad unfair isn't it.

What about revenge?

Against who?

Guess.

It's not the Decepticons?

No, its not.

The… Autobots?

Ding, ding, ding. Yes. We have a winner.

But they said… they tried… an accident…

Who cares about the how, shouldn't you be worried about the now?

Yes. It's their fault you don't have their bodies. Just some stray mutt.

It might be them…

It might be some fatso's McD's lunch…

It's their fault. All of it. You'd still have a family if it weren't for them and their damn war.

Its our war too…

No it's not. And you know that. Stop deluding yourself. They brought this blood bath to our world. Nothing humanity has done has brought the world to this point.

It'd be easier to deal with if a bunch of humans did this.

They didn't have to die. Why, if you had never met them…

The Autobots?

Yes. Them and this stupid war. It's their fault.

Revenge.

It would stop them causing further harm.

There wouldn't be any more husbands mourning a pile of burnt mince.

There wouldn't be any falsified graves.

No funeral pretence.

No empty marital bed.

No idol school books.

None of that.

Just emptiness.

You could save many, perhaps hundreds, from that pain.

Maybe thousands.

And not just husbands, but wives, children, friends…

Yes… but the Decepticons will continue…

Not if the revenge takes them all out.

But how?

You know how.

No I don't, I wouldn't have asked otherwise.

Don't lie. You _do _know. And you have to plan it properly, make sure no one suspects you, and you'll be able to pull it off as well. No one would expect you to do something so… Machiavellian.

That's right. No one would ever expect Spike Witwicky, the young face of Human-Transformer alliance, friendship and all that fuzzy propaganda bullshit. Hide your scheming behind unrelenting grief.

I wouldn't wish this grief on anyone.

All the more reason to put a stop to those who perpetrate it.

It could cost more lives.

More than have already been lost?

You can do this. You know you can. Everything you've ever done you've wondered about whether you could. All those times you stood up to the Decepticons, all those _gallant _actions, all those honourable moments, everything you've done, somewhere in your mind, your heart, perhaps your soul, there's already been a hint of doubt. Always unfounded, Spike. Unsubstantiated. You can do this.

Yeah. Spike. You can.

Go on.

You have to, and you know it.

Your personal feelings, put them aside, do it.

No, wait, you need that grief, it'll prove the excellent catalyst.

The mob has spoken, Spike, this is your destiny, and if not that, your duty.

Who are you?

You know who I am. I was there after your mother died. After your father… I've always been there for you Spike, and I'm here for you now. I won't ever leave you. Ever. And no one can take me from you. No one. Not even _them. _They took your wife, your child, your future, your life. All of that and probably more. But they can't take me, no one can. So, you now know what you must do, and know I will be there with you.

Revenge, Spike.

Revenge.


End file.
